


Like Attracts Like

by imaginary_golux



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 23:09:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6829072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a kink meme prompt: Poe and Finn participate in an alien ritual, something like hand-holding tag...without reading the fine print. Then they discover they can't get more than ten feet from each other without being in excruciating pain, and for some reason the General is laughing at them...</p>
<p>Beta by my Best Beloved, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw, who has just started a Dr. Who longfic which I had the honor to beta, if anyone's interested in that sort of thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Attracts Like

The first clue that something was not quite as innocent as it seemed probably should have been the speech the leader of the aliens gave before the race, which was all about eternal devotion and perfect compatibility. Unfortunately, Poe and Finn were both already a little drunk by then - Poe knows this is not a good excuse, okay, he is _aware_ \- and figured it was more of the sort of flowery diplomatic language that this species of sapients is prone to using instead of coming straight to the point. Which, just for the record, it wasn’t.

The second clue probably should have been the funny looks they were getting, but they were - as mentioned earlier - already a bit drunk, and also it’s hard to tell when someone is side-eyeing you when they have a _permanent_ case of side-eye due to being evolved from prey animals and having their eyes on either side of their head instead of in front.

The third clue probably ought to have been the slightly desperate way the race overseers tried to trip, entangle, ensnare, or otherwise inconvenience Poe and Finn in such a way that they’d be forced to let go of each other. But Poe is stubborn as a mule, and Finn is - if possible - even stubborner and also was trained in far more difficult situations than a simple race - even one with added hand-holding - and, most importantly, really does not want to let go of Poe’s hand.

So yes, Poe is forced to admit, there _were_ clues that perhaps winning this race would have unintended consequences, but Poe and Finn were slightly drunk and _very_ high on the joy of having cemented an alliance with the people of this world - who, while not terribly warlike, have an abundance of very useful materials which the Resistance will be immensely grateful to receive - and so they don’t really pay enough attention to those clues.

They do win the race, though, Poe staggering across the finish line behind Finn, hands firmly clasped, both of them laughing with glee. They’re met by the race overseers with a huge cup of some sort of celebratory ceremonial drink, and it seems like the best joke in the world to drink from it _together_ , cheeks pressed against each other and the drink burning a little as they swallow, hands still clasped between them.

(The way half the aliens made sounds suspiciously like “D’awwww” when they did that should have been another clue.)

And then there’s another party - or perhaps the continuation of the party from before the race, it’s not entirely clear - and neither of them really takes note of the fact that they don’t let go of each other’s hands. Finn _likes_ to hold Poe’s hand, it’s not like it’s unusual, and Poe’s high on life and victory and alien booze, and really doesn’t mind holding hands.

(This is not true. He _loves_ holding Finn’s hand. It’s the closest he can come to actually doing something about the burning adoration he feels for the other man, without actually _saying_ anything, which he is not doing for - reasons. Yes. Good reasons, no matter what Pava and Snap say. Perfectly good and legitimate reasons which have nothing to do with the fact that all his not-inconsiderable courage flies right out the airlock when it comes to actually admitting he’s fallen in love.)

So anyway. They run the race, they drink the ceremonial booze, they hold hands through the afterparty, and by the time they get back to their ship - a little bitty transport that isn’t _nearly_ as maneuverable as Poe’s beloved Black One - they’re so tired that they just topple into a bunk together and fall asleep in an untidy pile of limbs. Poe wakes up with Finn’s elbow digging into his ribs and his knee trapped quite uncomfortably under Finn’s hip, but other than that the night of revelry doesn’t appear to have had any ill effects, and they fly the little transport back to base with the parting good wishes of their erstwhile hosts ringing in their ears, and a signed treaty to present to the General. Victory, in short, is theirs.

The first real sign of trouble is when, after they’ve made their report to the General and been commended for their efforts, they try to head in different directions. Poe wants to go work on Black One and make sure Pava hasn’t gotten all the other pilots too drunk in his brief absence (and/or get the stories about what they’ve done _while_ drunk) and reassure BB-8 that he’s come back whole and hale; and Finn wants to head down to the practice rooms and spar with Rey.

They get about ten feet from each other when the pain kicks in. Poe actually goes to his knees with it, letting out a shocked little grunt and clutching at his midsection, where it feels rather as if his guts are being pulled out; Finn sways on his feet and his breath hisses between his teeth. And then Finn turns and sees Poe and starts towards him, all thoughts of his own pain gone in concern for his friend - and as soon as he puts a hand on Poe’s shoulder, the pain vanishes as though it had never been.

They blink at each other for a while, and Poe tries manfully to ignore the thoughts about the _other_ reasons he could be on his knees in front of his dearest friend.

“What the kriffing hell,” is Poe’s considered opinion after a few minutes.

“I have no clue,” Finn admits, giving Poe a hand back to his feet.

“Okay,” Poe says slowly, puzzled and more than a little worried. “Let’s...try that again, slowly? You move, I’ll stay here.”

Finn backs up one slow step at a time, and Poe feels steadily more and more uneasy until finally Finn crosses some invisible, intangible line and - yep - there’s that pain again. Poe lunges forward and Finn catches him, and they cling to each other for a minute. Contact abolishes the pain immediately, but - yeah. Poe’s not going to perform any more experiments if he can help it.

“Medical,” says Finn firmly. Poe nods.

*

“As far as I can tell, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you,” Doctor Kalonia tells them some time later. “I can’t detect _anything_ which would cause these symptoms.”

“...Kriff,” says Poe.

“I suggest you get in touch with the people who you were just meeting with, and see if they have any further information,” Doctor Kalonia says, rather sympathetically. “Or I suppose you could ask Master Skywalker if it has anything to do with the Force.” She tugs her glove off and puts a comforting hand on Poe’s arm. It burns like fire, and Poe flinches away; Finn tugs him close, looking worried.

“New data,” says Poe faintly. “Touching other people hurts.”

“Well shit,” says Finn slowly. “That...sucks.”

*

“It’s not precisely a Force-bond,” Master Skywalker says. “Similar, though.” He spreads his hands and shrugs. “I can’t break it, or at least I can’t break it without quite possibly causing harm to both of you, and unfortunately I’m not entirely sure what it wants you to do. Other than not get more than ten feet from each other or touch anyone else.”

“Thanks,” says Finn glumly.

“Cheer up,” says Master Skywalker. “It could be worse. You could hate each other!”

“...I don’t think we’d be in this situation if we hated each other,” Poe points out.

“But you’d be much unhappier if you _were_ ,” Master Skywalker says.

*

“I will comm them and ask,” the General says, carefully not laughing. Poe can _tell_ she is carefully not laughing. “In the meantime, I suggest you two get Pava to spread the word that you’re not going to be as tactile as you usually are. With anyone but each other, I mean.”

“I am a model of professionalism and dignity,” Poe protests.

“You’re a model of _something_ ,” the General agrees. “Shoo, both of you; I have to comm them to thank them for the treaty _anyway_ , and the two of you looking desolate in the background won’t help. I’ll let you know what I discover as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, General,” Finn says, and tugs Poe away. Their hands are clasped again; it seems best. Poe looks down at Finn’s fingers dark against his own and wonders exactly which god he has pissed off enough to put everything he wants literally _in his hands_...when he can’t have it. Finn isn’t _interested_ in him like that. Finn hugs everyone he considers a friend - gods, look at him with Rey, he drapes himself all _over_ Rey, and she laughs at him and makes him carry her around when she’s exhausted from Jedi training. He holds hands with anyone who holds still long enough. That he seems to prefer holding hands with Poe is...is just one of those things. Poe was his first friend; maybe he’s most comfortable with Poe. That’s probably it.

Poe should really stop torturing himself. But if he stopped letting Finn hold his hand, Finn would be sad, and Poe...isn’t going to do that. Ever, if he can help it.

He’ll get through this. He _will_. And without losing his dearest friend in the process

*

Poe and Finn retreat to the hangar, and Poe actually manages to distract both of them by teaching Finn about the inside workings of an X-Wing, and then by teaching an impromptu lesson in Binary when BB-8 shows up beeping about how Poe has managed to get in trouble _again_ and BB-8 should never let Poe out of its sight. By the end of the afternoon, Finn is actually managing short sentences in Binary, much to BB-8’s delight, and Black One is so clean it’s gleaming, because Poe had to do _something_ with his hands that wasn’t cling to Finn, and Finn decided to help once he saw what Poe was doing. They’ve started to get used to their ten-foot radius, too, though Finn’s solution appears to be just taking Poe’s hand anytime they need to go anywhere, which...does work, Poe can’t honestly argue with it. And Finn’s hand is warm and callused and gentle, and Poe would happily hold his hand for the rest of his life.

Would _ask_ for his hand, if he thought there was even the slightest chance Finn might reciprocate his feelings.

*

The General has apparently not found out what’s going on by dinnertime, so Poe and Finn eat in the mess hall - Rey has apparently been kind enough to warn everyone not to touch them, so it’s like they’re in a bubble, almost, all their friends sitting a careful six inches away from them. Pava teases them both mercilessly about getting drunk on alien planets and doing stupid things, which is fair, and Rey keeps giving Finn these completely inexplicable smug looks that make Finn hide his face in his hands, but otherwise dinner is quite bearable, really. Poe _wants_ to sling his arm over Pava’s shoulders, to clap Snap on the back while he congratulates him on his recent recon mission, to tug on Rey’s padawan braid as he asks her how Jedi training went - but he doesn’t dare touch them, so he just does his best to banter and lets Finn catch his hand and hold it close.

After dinner they head for Poe’s room, because Finn rooms with Rey.

“You can have the bed, buddy,” Poe tells Finn. “I’ll put a sleep sack on the floor, it’ll be fine.”

“We could share the bed,” Finn suggests, smiling.

Poe winces exaggeratedly. “My poor ribs couldn’t take it; your elbows are like knives, buddy,” he says, lying through his teeth. Finn shrugs and nods, and Poe retreats to the bathroom - thankfully his rooms are small enough that he’s still within the ten-foot radius - and tries to close the door, upon which they both discover that that’s...really, really unpleasant.

“How about I just stand in the doorway and look the other way,” Finn suggests once Poe has flung the door back open and grabbed onto Finn for dear life, Finn clinging back just as hard.

“I think that sounds like a _good_ idea, buddy,” Poe says hoarsely.

They both manage to get clean without any more disasters, and end up standing side-by-side at the sink as they brush their teeth. Poe can’t quite help sneaking glances at Finn’s lovely bare chest, the way his sleep pants hang low on his hips. Damn. Talk about a sight for sore eyes.

They settle in for the night, Finn sprawled over Poe’s bunk, head hanging over the edge so he can see Poe, Poe curled in his sleep sack - it’s honestly fairly comfortable - looking up at him. “G’night, buddy,” Poe says quietly. “The General will have this all sorted out tomorrow, wait and see.”

Finn smiles. “Hey, worst comes to worst I have to hold your hand a lot,” he says. “That’s not exactly a hardship.”

“True,” Poe admits.

“Really, apart from not being able to touch anyone _else_ , this isn’t so bad,” Finn adds. “It’s not like I mind being close to you.”

“...Me neither, buddy,” Poe says, and reminds his traitorous heart that Finn means that in a completely platonic manner.

*

Poe wakes up in the middle of the night to a feeling like his heart is being ripped from his chest; above him, on the bunk, Finn shoots upright, gasping in agony, and then tumbles in a half-controlled fall off of the bunk and into Poe’s arms. Poe thinks that while he wishes Finn would fall for him, this is _not_ what he means at all. Thankfully, touching each other gets rid of the awful pain, but -

“I think we’re going to have to share the bunk after all,” Poe says.

Finn, his head tucked into the curve of Poe’s neck, nods. “Yeah,” he mumbles into Poe’s skin. “Sorry about the elbows.”

“I’ll manage,” Poe says, and honestly when they’re not both drunk it’s a lot easier to find a position which is comfortable for both of them. Poe ends up as the little spoon, Finn curled around him protectively, and honestly Poe has no complaints about this at all. Well, one - that it’s not real. That Finn doesn’t _actually_ want to cradle Poe in his arms all night. But besides that, this is pretty much perfect.

“Try this again,” Poe murmurs. “G’night.”

“G’night,” Finn agrees, breath warm against the back of Poe’s neck.

*

In the morning, everything goes relatively smoothly until Finn steps out into the main room to grab his shirt while Poe is still wiping the shaving cream off his face and they discover the hard way that their radius has gotten smaller overnight.

“Kriffing hell, I do not _like_ that,” Finn gasps, reeling Poe in closer and letting him lean against Finn while he catches his breath from the sudden, unexpected agony. “The General had better know what this is, or I’m going back there and figuring it out myself!”

“I’ll fly us there,” Poe promises. “ _Ow_.”

“I thought they were our _friends_ ,” Finn says mournfully. “But friends don’t cause each other horrific pain.”

“Certainly not on purpose,” Poe agrees. “Augh. I need caf, and then I need _answers_.”

“I can find you one of those,” Finn says brightly, and sure enough when they get to the mess hall Finn beats Poe to the caf machine and puts together a cup just the way Poe likes it, handing it to Poe with a blindingly bright smile. Poe can’t help but grin back.

“ _There_ you two are,” the General says fifteen minutes later, as Poe is finishing his caf. “Congratulations!”

“...On what?” Poe asks her dubiously. She grins broadly.

“On your _marriage_ , Dameron.”

Poe gapes. Finn gapes. Leia smirks.

“Evidently, among our new allies, completing the Lovers’ Race hand-in-hand and then drinking from the Beloveds’ Cup creates a marriage bond between two people,” she says smugly. “According to the representative I spoke to, the necessity of closeness endures and grows stronger - how did xe put it - until conjugal closeness has been achieved.” Her smirk gets wider. “So, congratulations, Mister and Mister Dameron. I’m giving you two weeks off for the honeymoon. Use them well.”

*

Poe gapes after her for a long moment. When he does find words again, they’re not terribly good ones: “I,” he stammers, “I don’t…”

“Want to be married to me, I know,” Finn says mournfully. “I’m so sorry.”

Poe slews around in his seat to stare at Finn. “Wait - wait - no, hold on, back up. You think I don’t want to be married to you?”

“Well, obviously,” Finn says. “I mean, I haven’t exactly been _subtle_ \- half the pilots on base have already told me that if I break your heart they’ll break my legs, and Rey’s _always_ giving me shit about how I’m ‘pining for Poe Dameron like a kriffing _tree_ ’ - you _must_ know how I feel about you. I just figured you were trying to let me down easy.”

Poe does his best impression of a fish. “Wait - what - you - but I -” he shakes his head hard, stands up. “Let’s not have this conversation in the mess hall, okay?”

“Sure,” says Finn, and takes his hand when Poe offers it. Poe leads the way through the base to his favorite quiet thinking spot, an isolated niche up above the hangar, while he tries to figure out how _exactly_ he managed to get everything so wrong.

“Okay,” he says once they’ve gotten settled, Finn’s shoulder warm against his. “I was pretty sure that you were interested in _Rey_. And also I’ve been completely and utterly in love with you pretty much since you saved my life on the _Finalizer_. I’d have married you in a heartbeat if I’d known you wanted it - I guess I’ve been trying so hard not to hope that I didn’t see what was right in front of me. And I’ve been trying so hard not to pressure you that _you_ didn’t know I love you, and for that I do apologize, buddy, because I love you _so kriffing much_ , you have no idea.”

“You know,” says Finn slowly, “I think I do,” and puts a hand on Poe’s cheek, turns Poe to face him, and kisses Poe soft and sweet and unutterably perfect.

“So,” Poe says quietly as they break apart, “let me try to get this right this time. Finn, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” says Finn instantly, and the smile on his face is brighter than the sun. “Yes, I will.”

*

“So,” says Poe, after several minutes of kissing, “about that, ah, ‘conjugal closeness.’ Do you, um, have any experience with that?”

“I know the theory,” Finn says, shrugging, “and I’ve _seen_ a fair bit.”

“...Seen?” Poe asks.

“It’s not as though Stormtroopers can find privacy very easily,” Finn says. “If a couple of ‘troopers want to engage in ‘illicit recreational activities’ they’ll usually just pick a bunk.” He shrugs again. “So I saw a lot, but I never did get invited to join in.”

“Why the kriff _not_?” Poe asks incredulously.

“I wasn’t exactly popular in the First Order,” Finn points out gently. “Half of the people around me were terrified of me because Phasma was always paying attention to me - I think, looking back, she was grooming me for officer - and they thought I might report them, and the other half thought I was a weakling because I cared about people.”

“They were all kriffing idiots, you mean,” Poe says angrily. “ _Anyone_ who doesn’t adore you is a kriffing idiot.”

Finn laughs and tugs Poe a little closer with an arm around his waist. “These days I have plenty of friends,” he reminds Poe. “It doesn’t bug me anymore.”

“Well, it bugs _me_ ,” Poe grumbles, but when Finn kisses him he lets himself be distracted for a while.

“ _Anyway_ ,” he says eventually, “conjugal closeness.”

“Yes, I would very much like to have sex with you,” Finn replies promptly.

Poe can’t really help the silly grin on his face. “Should we...adjourn this conversation to somewhere more private, then?”

“That seems like it might be a good idea,” Finn agrees. “I suspect Jess would start heckling if she found us.”

Poe puts a hand over his eyes. “Oh kriff, she _would_. Yep, let’s go!” He jumps to his feet, pulling Finn up after him, and Finn laughs and kisses him again.

*

They don’t stop again until they’ve reached Poe’s room, and Poe can’t help laughing as they half-tumble through the door and Finn pins him up against it, kisses him breathless. BB-8 bloops a protest, and Poe pushes Finn away just far enough that he can open the door and let his droid roll out, before reeling Finn in again; they stumble across the room, shedding jackets and shirts carelessly onto the floor, until Poe’s knees hit the bed and he falls backwards onto it, Finn catching himself on his elbows just in time, landing braced above Poe and grinning down at him.

“Pants,” Poe says, and Finn tumbles off to one side, already struggling with his buttons; Poe skims out of his own pants and boots, rolls back over into a heated kiss, and - skin, so much skin, warm and smooth under his hands, and Poe makes a hungry noise in the back of his throat that Finn echoes, and then they’re rutting against each other, desperate and inelegant. Poe would feel embarrassed - he’s usually not this eager and clumsy in bed - but this is, for all intents and purposes, his _wedding night_ , kriffing hell, Poe didn’t actually think he’d _live_ long enough to get married, much less to the stunningly beautiful, intelligent, brave, sweet man in his arms -

Wow, even for his normal mental monologue that’s a little sappy -

Poe laughs against Finn’s lips and revels in the moan Finn makes when he comes, lets himself follow Finn over the peak with his own heartfelt groan, and just holds on tight for a while, delighting in skin and warmth and closeness, the press of lips and the way Finn sighs in pleasure as they kiss.

“So,” says Finn, after their heartrates have gone down a little. “Conjugal closeness. I could get used to that...husband.”

Poe makes a soft, involuntary noise and kisses Finn again. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “Yeah, so could I, husband mine.”

*

Their two week honeymoon is only _barely_ long enough.


End file.
